


Experience

by PercyByssheShelley



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Honest Hearts, Hypothermia, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercyByssheShelley/pseuds/PercyByssheShelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You would leave this?” she sounds genuinely surprised, jerking her chin towards the mountains, the sunrise, the river. </p>
<p>“Are you going to stay?” He can picture her with tattoos swirled beneath her eyes, and the idea pleases him. She's sillier than a headless gecko, but she loves the valley like a Dead Horse should. </p>
<p>It's her turn to duck her head in embarrassment. “I've been here less than two days, and nearly got killed by rain. I think I'm safer back home, with the Deathclaws and the people shooting at me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experience

Joshua Graham didn't make mistakes. That was the only reason that Follows Chalk didn't let himself wonder if there had been some misunderstanding, if he had been assigned to assist an overgrown child instead of the adult warrior she claimed to be. The Courier wore her face and arms naked like a child. She was as distractable as a child, staring past him as he talked, her wide eyes far more interested in the glint of sunshine on the mountain peaks and the rainbows thrown up by the river's spray. She moved like a child, charging off down the slope toward the riverbed, her pack thumping against her back in her hurry. She didn't even glance back to check if he was following, but he did. He was good at following.

She squeaked like a big horner calf when she hit the water. “Fuck me it's cold!” Despite this, she waded in up to her waist. “Are you coming in?” 

He pointed ahead, where a perfectly serviceable path ran alongside the water. “No need.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and made a noise that was half frog, half gassy baby. “Killjoy.” 

They continued in that way, him on the path and her zig zagging back and forth in the river, chasing fish and running her fingers through the mud slicked reeds. Every now and then she would simply stop and cup water in her hands, staring at it like she'd never seen it before. 

Maybe she hadn't. For all he knew, the people of the city had nothing but thunder lizard piss to bathe in. He was just about to ask her, when the first drop of rain splattered on his shoulder. 

Her eyes widened, suddenly as bright as the water. She tipped her head back to let the rain hit her face, a happy flush creeping up from her neck. She watched the rain and he watched her, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. 

The water painted the loose wisps of her hair to her neck, and the heavy fabric of her shirt to her chest. He jerked his head away when he realised what he was staring at, but saw enough to confirm that no, she was definitely not a child. 

The cloudburst passed quickly, as Zion storms always did, and for a moment they stood blinking at each other, bright eyed and red faced. She shot him an embarrassed grin, her lower lip trembling slightly, and he grinned back. 

Shortly afterwards the path grew too steep, giving way to sheer red cliffs. He slipped into the water after her, placing one hand on top of her pack so he wouldn't lose her in the fading light. She had lost interest in chasing rainbows, and moved in a straight, albeit sluggish, line toward their destination. When he pulled close to her to negotiate a narrow passage, he noticed that she was no longer trembling. 

“Hoi,” he put a hand on her shoulder, and her skin felt cold beneath his fingers. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she said, her voice thick. “S'funny, I was cold 'fore. Feel great now.” 

Panic skimmed down his spine. He tightened his grip on her shoulder and gently spun her around. He had to lean close to see her face in the twilight, and she smiled and tilted her head in invitation. Her eyes were still wild and bright, but had taken on an unfocused quality. Her lips were blue. 

“This is bad,” he said, glancing around. Usually in these situations it was his job to stay out of the way while more experienced scouts saved the day. But there was only him, and a woman who didn't grasp the basic safety measures drilled into all Zion children. 

He grabbed her arms and draped them over his shoulders, pulling her against his back. Her head rolled forward on his shoulder. The cold was making her slow on the uptake, but after a moment she grasped his intent, and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Pony ride,” she whispered in his ear. He tried to ignore the way her breath on his neck warmed his entire body. 

He pushed up and stumbled, nearly sending the two of them crashing back into the water. What did she have in that pack, a whole bighorner carcass? A tribe's worth of tents? Rocks? 

His second attempt was more successful, and he was able to set a good pace toward the nearest ford. She helped by batting at his shoulder with her open palm, muttering “Gi' up!” into his neck. 

Once they were clear of the water, he struck a course for a small hunting camp he knew was nearby. He was disappointed to find it empty when they arrived. No one was going to rescue him today. 

She was very cooperative as he stripped her out of the wet clothes and pushed her into the bunk, but her face grew serious when he slid in beside her, pulling the blankets around them. He pulled her bare back against his chest, letting his skin warm hers. 

“If you're plannin' to take a'vantage, I shoul' warn you that...” she blinked slowly before picking her thread of thought back up, “I'm verra good at shootin' people.”

He chuckled, earning a confused huff from her. “You are some kind of strange.” 

“I am the bes' kind of strange,” she whispered, with the air of one sharing a deep secret. 

She was asleep in minutes, but he lay awake for hours, listening to her breathe. 

…

He woke up alone. Since he did that every morning, it took him a while to realise there was a problem. 

He found her outside, poking at a fire that was all kindling and would burn out in minutes. 

“You should not be out here.” He made a show of wrapping himself in a blanket to keep out the cool morning air. 

“I've got a fire.”

He shook his head. “No good. Fire warms the hands. Not the heart.” 

That made her smile, and he flushed as his brain caught up with his mouth. That seemed to please her even more, and she patted the bench beside her. He sat down, and rearranged the blanket so that it covered them both. She leaned against him, and through the thin fabric of her shirt her skin was much warmer. Still she crowded closer, and hooked one arm around his waist, her hand resting on his thigh. 

She kept up a steady stream of chatter as they watched the sun come up, as if trying to prove that she can speak clearly again. She told him the legends of her people. He particularly liked the ones about the gunslinger who had lived for ever, the girl who had lived her whole life in a cave, and the man who was poisoned by a bitter spring. He didn't really understand the ones about the woman who could turn water into wine, but he tried to laugh in the right spots. 

“Your chief must be something special,” he remarked, “with followers like that.”

“Their chief is a damned fool,” she sighed, the corners of her mouth quirking up. 

They settled into silence, and after a few minutes he felt her shift against him, as if about to get up, get on with the day. Desperate to keep her in their cocoon he opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to mind, a story about a man with a guitar. 

“You mean the Lonesome Drifter?” she stared up at him, eyes wide with interest. “He's working on The Strip now.”

“The Strip?”

“It's a city out in the Wastes. Good food, terrible company.”

“Ah. Civilization.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” she bumped his shoulder with hers. “Buts it's got something. It's like-” she pointed up on the ridge, where a cluster of Sorrows lanterns were still flickering in the low light. “There are lights. Tens of thousands.”

“I would like to see that.” He's embarrassed by the raw want in his tone, and ducks his head.

“You would leave this?” she sounds genuinely surprised, jerking her chin towards the mountains, the sunrise, the river. 

“Are you going to stay?” He can picture her with tattoos swirled beneath her eyes, and the idea pleases him. She's sillier than a headless gecko, but she loves the valley like a Dead Horse should. 

It's her turn to duck her head in embarrassment. “I've been here less than two days, and nearly got killed by rain. I think I'm safer back home, with the Deathclaws and the people shooting at me.”

A tiny spark of disappointment flared in his stomach. 

Some of it must have shown in his expression, because she stared up at him open mouthed, muttered “Oh, that is adorable,” then reached up and pulled his face down to meet hers. 

 

He froze as she pressed her tongue into his mouth, the fingers of one hand carding through the hair at the back of his neck while the other squeezed his hip. He understood what was going on, what she wanted. He had sat around enough campfires as the other men traded stories and jokes. But the women of the tribe paid him no more regard than they would a child. He would be invisible to them until he became a Scout in his own right. He'd always had a vague expectation that on that day, one of the older men would sit him down and talk him through the basics. 

She pulled away, but left her hand in his hair. “Is this because I threatened to shoot you? Because I won't. Honest.” 

“I can't... I've never... I don't...” he sighs, and braces himself for her laughter. “I don't know what to do.”

He forces himself to look at her face, and she's staring at him with the same expression she wore when she turned her face to the rain for the first time. “Oh, that is cool,” she breathed, pushing him down onto the bench. 

It shifts beneath him as she stands up, and he can hear her stripping out of her pants. He isn't sure if he is allowed to look, so he stares up at the sky. It is going to rain again today. That will make her happy. 

She climbs back onto the bench, knees to either side of his hips, and sits back on his thighs. After a moment of panicked uncertainty about where to put his hands, he grips the edges of the bench. 

“Have you ever...” she makes a loose fist and jerks her wrist. She blushes, and can't get the words out, but the gesture is universal. He nods. 

“Good, so I'm not corrupting you completely. Just mostly.” Her fingers tugged at the ties at his waist, exposing him. She traced his hipbones, with long sweeping strokes all the way to the crease of his thigh. 

The first time she actually touched his chodis appeared to be accidental, just a brief brush of the palm as she followed the line of a tattoo. Even so his hips bucked involuntarily, pushing up into her hand. Her face was serious, though he could see her lips wanted to twitch into a smile. “Is this ok?” she whispered, squeezing him gently. 

“Lah,” he replied. His English had slipped away from him as all the blood rushed away from his head, but she seemed to understand, because she didn't stop. 

The other hand found one of his, and patiently peeled his fingers away from their death grip on the edge of the bench. She pressed a kiss to the centre of his palm, then slid his hand down her body, between her legs. With her fingers between his, she guided him to the right spot, until she was squirming against his legs. 

She released her grip on him, and giggled softly when he whined out loud. She rapped her knuckles on his thigh. “I'm going to need you to warn me when you're going to, you know,” she made a fist, then flicked her fingers outwards, “pop. It's a moment killer, but I'm not ready to child proof the Lucky 38.” 

 

Before he can even begin to untangle what she means by that, she lifts up and repositions herself on him. He gasps something out loud that isn't English, but isn't quite Dead Horse or German either, because there are no words. No words. 

“Is this ok?” she asked, rocking her hips. 

“Lah,” he manages again, and presses up into her. She gasped out loud, and a flash of pride rolled through him. 

Then she slipped her knees off the bench, straddling him with her feet braced in the dirt. This pushes him even deeper into her, and they sigh in unison. 

She takes his hands, and for a moment laces their fingers together, before placing them on her hips. “Don't worry, you won't hurt me,” she panted. “Just pull.” 

As he thrust upwards he gripped her hips, pulling them into his. She squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back, showing the pale curve of her throat. He takes this as a good sign and did it again, then again and again until she cried out, her muscles tightening around him. 

As he rides out her shudders, he realises what she meant earlier (although what a Lucky 38 is remains a mystery). Just in the nick of time, he let go and rapped her thigh with his knuckles. 

Instantly she pushed up. The loss her warmth was almost physically painful, and he bit his lower lip against another whine. She wrapped her hand around him again, and he tipped over the edge, shouting loud enough to be heard in the Sorrows camp. He doesn't care.

His head thunks against the bench and he floats there. He is distantly aware of her draping herself at his side, her head pillowed on his chest. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine the flickering lights of ten thousand lanterns.

**Author's Note:**

> Dead Horse to English:
> 
> Hoi = Hi  
> Lah = Fine  
> Chodis is allegedly the Navajo word for penis. I tried to find a decent source on this, but I had already spent an embarrassingly long time deciding what the Dead Horse word for penis might be, and decided to just go with it.
> 
> Originally posted to the Fallout Kink Meme, and written for the virginity square of Kink Bingo Round Five.


End file.
